The sun is getting real low.
I’m not quite asleep and not quite awake, and I’m not quite finished dreaming yet.
The tremors have stopped but now all the flights are holding.
I put on my mask but now no one is giving me candy.
I left the party early but now the friend who invited me can no longer bear to see my face.
I know I’m not for everyone and that I take up lots of space.
I’m either falling in love or I’m falling in debt,
I’m falling everywhere but in my place.
And so I tighten up my lace.
I’m going for a walk. I’m gonna set a pace,
Twitching as I talk, but stuttering with grace,
Outlined in chalk as the memories erase,
Losing myself and losing my taste.
Losing my patience?
BOOM! I’m replaced.
Can I just come home now?
Pleasant Grove is an unpleasant mountain of half-told stories. Las Vegas is a mirage of euphoria, a mirage that doesn’t last long enough to let you asphyxiate comfortably. Orlando has too many children and not enough hands to hug you back. I’m not tall enough for Fort Myers or Hispanic enough for Tampa, and my ass is too small for Miami. You can’t differentiate who is and isn’t homeless in New Orleans. Atlanta has all the swag and none of the substance. Portland isn’t potty trained. Cincinnati can’t decide what state it belongs to. Denver costs too damn much and only wants to wear your face and be you for the night. Reykjavik is robotic. Rome is no place to roam. Haifa is only half-full. Buffalo is pretty damn nice actually… but it was not quite asleep and not quite awake, not quite finished dreaming of how good of a city it can be, so it pushes you away while expecting you to stay and you’re never quite sure when to leave. Philadelphia has my soul, no doubt, but the ATM machines here make me feel unwelcome...
What broke my heart has fixed my eyes, and I think I’ve seen enough...
Can I please come home now?
Don’t mind my desperation. I can tuck it under your bed with all the rejected selfies, dick pics, and regurgitated ‘I Miss You’s and ‘I Love You’s that you ration out to your followers and friends.
The grimace isn’t personal, I swear! The doctors say it will go away. You just have to trust me. You just have to believe me. You just have to have faith that I won’t make you leave me.
I just need time--time and laughter. Silence is the loudest thing between us and I won’t be able to sleep if we’re silent. I won’t be able to heal without sleep. At least let me lay in the hallway? At least leave a note if you leave? At least don’t lock me out? Abusing those who love you to amuse the ones who won’t doesn’t look very good on your Karma.
Am I allowed to come home now?
Home being the stablest place in-between, the destination en route to your destination, in the middle of how it is and how I thought it would be, the zone of proximal comfort where ‘That’s what she said…’ reigns supreme, where we learn to build fires, where we inhale whipped cream, where we laugh on the phone and binge on TV, where you can be you and I can be me. I can find it if I could only stand still...
I’m all vacationed out, brain burnt to a crispy stroopwafel and dipped in a cup of homesick, yet I don’t know how to stop moving. It’s as if home is always someplace else right around the corner from where I’m standing, just underneath wherever it is I fly.
I swear I was only gone a month and now to everywhere I am welcome, but to nowhere I belong.
